


Five Times Sam and Dean Nearly Burned Their Own House Down

by kalliel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: B-sides, Banter banter banter, Fire, Flash Fic, Gen, Humor, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 11, chillin' by the fire while we eatin' fondue, domestic fail, not the spleen!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7687918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalliel/pseuds/kalliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"We'll go after we look less like we've committed twenty felonies," Dean promises.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Did you just tell your spleen to wait in line?"</i>
</p><p>  <i>"I just told my spleen to suck it; it's laundry day."</i></p><p> Five times Sam and Dean nearly burned their own house down, all in a single day. Oh, and they're trying to get to the ER. At some point. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Sam and Dean Nearly Burned Their Own House Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madebyme_x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madebyme_x/gifts).



Dean feels hot pain radiate up to his shoulder. 

"--think she got me in the spleen," he pants. He tries to get some purchase on the wheel well behind him. "Fuckin' ghost babies."

Sam's quiet before him, cogs in his addled brain slowly working up to verbal comprehension. Sasha must've done a number on his head. Dean's not trusting him behind the wheel like that, in any case. So when Sam starts, "Do you needa go to the--"

Dean says, "Here's good."

'Here' is the middle of nowhere, in the middle of Michigan, in the middle of Michigan spring. Which is a Kansas Snowpocalypse, and Dean's gotta admit they're not used to this anymore. Not that he's ever made a habit of snow camping.

 "We should get in the car," says Sam.

"Here's good," Dean repeats.

"We need to get in the car," Sam repeats, more fervently. "Get in the car."

Dean would sigh, but that's really more abdominal movement than he's game for right now. And now Sam's getting all GI Joe, disaster mode on him.

 "Can you get up?"

"I'll work on that."

"Cocoa?"

Dean starts. "Whuh--"

Judging by the thin film of frost on his pants and the loggishness of his fingers, it's been a while, and he definitely hasn't been working on getting up. Sam either hasn't noticed or he trusts Dean's strategy.

Fuck, Sasha really nailed him. And disaster mode or no, Sam's acting a few jigsaws loose.

They're probably going to die out here.

Sam asks him again if he wants cocoa. He has his stupid pocket rocket out.

Dean could be okay with this. Dying out here.

 "Seriously, dude. I need an answer. I'm not a mind-reader."

No, Dean's not okay with this.

 "Drink."

Suddenly Sam's in front of him, holding out a tin mug. It's cold to the touch, which is a weird and alarming but then it's just whiskey and Dean's choking it up and that hurts like hell. "What the f--"

 "It should help with the pain for now. You need to get up, Dean. We need to get out of here."

"It won't help the internal bleeding!"

 "Since when have you ever worried about that?"

"I dunno, since my spleen got whaled on by a homicidal six-month old, maybe."

 "You're gonna be fine."

Then Sam's pushing another cup to Dean's face. This one burns his tongue numb, but it's warm. It makes everything feel worse before it feel better. "'Cause of cocoa? I'm gonna be fine 'cause of--"

"'Cause I'm gonna take care of you. I got you. Come on, up--"

_I got you._

 

\--

 

 "You seem a little concussed."

"No shit."

"I'm just saying."

"You seem a little like you've already passed out on me once. You're not driving, Dean; get over it."

"Did you turn off the stove?"

"What stove?"

"Your gas stove."

 "We're in the car, Dean."

"I fucking realize that. I mean, did you--"

 "What stove?"

"The cocoa--"

"What?"

"Sam! Stop the fucking car, so help me--"

 

\--

 

"Now you're just being ridiculous."

"I'm the reason we're not a giant fireball driving down I-90. I can do whatever I want."

"You can't brush your teeth with whiskey. That defeats the purpose."

"This is my morning routine. And we're out of water."

 "You have to be regularly awake before noon to have a morning routine. And there's plenty of snow--we'd have had water ten minutes ago if you'd let me use the--"

"You're never using that stupid thing again. Uh-uh--Boy Scout privileges revoked."

Dean sinks to his knees and spits into the snow. There's no where to sit where he won't get ass-wet, but he wishes-- 

His mouth still tastes like blood.

 "You okay?" Sam asks.

Sam swims before him and the answer is clearly no, but Dean says, "Yeah, I'm good."

 "You really don't look so--" Sam starts. "Yeah, let's go to a hospital."

"Yeah, okay."

Dean spits more blood, just remnants now, and gestures for the whiskey. "But first, let me help you with you stupid--"

"Dean, my god, no-- Don't you dare spit that on my fi--"

 

\--

 

"After we look less like we've committed twenty felonies," Dean promises.

"Did you just tell your spleen to wait in line?"

"I just told my spleen to suck it; it's laundry day."

"You're an idiot."

 "If I pass out, feel free to call an ambulance. I'm sure they'll send someone over from Oak Park lickety-split. It'll be exciting."

Sam shrugs. "Your funeral. What's our ER story gonna be?"

Dean shrugs bigger, and Sam regards him quizzically. His shoulders twitch.

 "I dunno," Dean says. "The usual, I guess. We were playing flag football at your daughter's birthday barbecue and you hit me."

"Tackle football," Sam corrects.

 "Flag," Dean insists. "You hit me because you're a dirty cheat. And what's that smell?"

"That--" Sam stops. "So that's not just me?"

"What the hell do you mean, that's not just you? What's burning?"

"I just assumed it was a concussion thing."

"So how long was the bunker gonna be burning down for before you said anything? Jesus, Sam. Did you clear out the lint catcher?"

 "The--"

"The lint catcher! On the dryer!"

 

\--

 

Having dispensed of the laundryroom fire, Sam comes up upstairs to even thicker, blacker smoke.

"Dean?" Sam shouts.

 "Kitchen!" is Dean's muffled reply.

Sam rushes, but Dean's standing by the stove, panic-free, with two solid feet of flame in his skillet.

 "Did you know," Dean begins, "that if you leave an empty pan on the burner too long, the oil you add will just flip the fuck out?"

Two solid feet of flame, undiminished. Sam sits down at the table as the kitchen fills with smoke. 

Dean keeps holding his pan.

"And you decided to test this out now because…?" Sam says finally.

 "You know how long we're gonna sit around at the ER. We'd starve to death."

 Sam steeples his fingers theatrically. "I see. Well, if we dick around in the kitchen long enough I imagine by the time we get to the ER they'll have cause to bump you straight to the front of the line. Ace strategy."

"You know, you think you're joking, but think about it. You're not wrong. This could work!"

"So what were you making?" Sam asks, which means Oh Shut Up, Dean.

"Well, at this point, I dunno. S'mores?"

"And what are you gonna do about that?" Sam gestures at the inferno. "It's not going out."

"I was gonna woo it. Break out the ukelele…"

"Wow, it's really not going out."

"Oh, she's gonna go out for me," Dean assures him.

They watch the tower burn bright.

 

\--

 

When they get home, the bunker still smells like smoke.

"Another one for the survival column, I guess," says Dean, feeling very full of IV fluids.

 "And we know the moral of the story here, right?" Sam adds.

Dean eases himself into a chair. "Don't… play with fire?"

"I mean, I was gonna say 'Fire shouldn't mess with us.'"

"Oh, and I'm the pyro?"

"Dude, you were literally wooing a greasefire."

Dean sinks lower into his chair, trying to find that mental cliff where painkillers sink from nausea into coziness. "Hey, remember that health spa where they did that thing with the fire and the cups? You think that actually works?"

"Dean, no."

 

"I think we should see if that actually works."


End file.
